


revenant not being awful x2 and a bit o' angst

by Naii (kahnai)



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Drabble Collection, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Memories, Murder, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Revenant Being Revenant (Apex Legends), Swearing, Trauma, Triple Drabble, also-i suck at writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24002836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kahnai/pseuds/Naii
Summary: a oneshot containing three scenes from fics i won't write. enjoy, i guess. Revenant-centric
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	revenant not being awful x2 and a bit o' angst

Revenant goes still, silently listening for something he thought he had heard. He was reading in the Commons, the only human activity he had kept (besides murder, naturally). He did it at night, not wanting the other Legends to know.

Currently, he's slipping the book underneath a plush chair with a small scratch on it, rising to a crouch to crawl towards the source of the noise.

A too-loud sniff.

A few steps forward, audio sensors as sensitive as possible.

The familiar sound of someone exhaling too hard, having tried not to breathe—a failure of a tactic. It never worked for someone crying while hiding.

Crying?

Revenant silently crawls onto the wall as he approaches the noise, sinking his fingers into the wall for purchase.

Mumbled words, breathy and rapid. Someone reassuring themselves, audibly. Another shitty tactic.

The simulacrum makes it to the source of the noise, opening the door from the ceiling. The door silently swings open and Revenant crawls inside through the doorway, ending up on the ceiling. Revenant reluctantly thanks the creators of the Simulacrum for giving him nightvision, so he could see the curled-up mess that is Elliott Witt, without him seeing the robot.

“What’s wrong with _you_ , skinbag?” Elliott’s breathing halts as he looks around, heartbeat audible to Revenant. His optics light up, revealing his place on Elliott’s ceiling. Tears roll down Mirage’s face as he chokes back another sob, now distressed the simulacrum is _on his ceiling_. Revenant attempts another strategy. “Are you okay?”

The famous, charming, affable Legend shakes his head, returning to a curled-up state. Revenant lets go of the ceiling, landing on the floor much like a cat would. He rises to standing, before sighing, “You’re a mess.” After a beat, he reluctantly adds, “The whole 4-7-8 thing. The breathing. Do that for a bit.” It wasn’t much, but it was better than letting him sit there. This of course relied on Elliott having heard of it.

Elliott nods, breathing along with the exercise. Revenant stands there as he does it, dimming his optics until he’s practically invisible. As he finishes, distracted more by the activity than whatever was consuming his mind, Elliott quietly says, “…Thank you.”

He receives no answer, but Revenant rolls his eyes slightly. Appreciatively, of course. He makes it back out to the Commons and slips his book out from underneath the plush chair.

He knew how Elliott felt.

* * *

Makoa Gibraltar was the most optimistic Legend. While Pathfinder was, by far, the most cheerful, the MRVN stood as the #1 on Revenant’s ‘Most Naïve’ list. He would mention something far too risqué for the robot, and it would cock it’s head, before questioning Mirage about whatever Revenant said.

Anyway, Makoa was often the light of the dropship, often cooking Maori meals that the other Legends loved. Revenant would often stare, trying to conjure the closest thing to that meal up in his head. Fish? He’s eaten fish before— _2742-37-2-12:24:17- It was a smoked salmon dish, he ate it while watching his target, hiding in plain sight at the Tenmei. His target choked on his meal, lethal amounts of chicken-smelling rat poison having been sprinkled over his meal like the breading_.

But then the other Legends would exclaim “It’s like nothing I’ve ever eaten!” and he be stuck. MRVNs could synthesize meals and develop an opinion on a certain line of binary code—even Pathfinder had a little excited emoji on his screen.

Today, however? Makoa had remained in his room, pacing back and forth in the late hours. Revenant had put down his book after becoming annoyed his audio sensors could pick up every. fucking. footstep.

He slinks towards the Legend’s room, following a clear audio cue instead of spaced-out sniffles and breathing. He cracks open the door and the pacing continued, but Revenant could hear a small voice, one from a phone. _He’s on a call._

“John—please, the break’s in a few weeks—”

Someone screaming on the other end, crying and accusing Makoa of _several_ awful things. A familiar, comforting rage begins to build, righteous vengeance becoming an option. Sure, the Simulacrum didn’t give two shits about Makoa (maybe one)—

“If—no, you can’t, they’ll—that’s not—”

—but he quite enjoyed killing little assholes threatening violence against other Legends. He could hear the threats clearly, since they’re being screamed. Revenant slowly stalks inside the room, the only light being from a lamp that he avoids. He hides in the corner, optics as dim as possible. In an effort to be as stealthy as possible, he remains entirely still, slowing any processes that make noise. Another five minutes of intensity, before Makoa is hung up on. He tosses the phone to the side, before sitting on his bed, head in his hands. After a couple seconds, he walks over and turns off the lamp, before going to sleep, leaving his phone on the side of the bed.

Revenant crawls over, snatching the device away and slipping out of the room. He glances at the recent calls and scans the number. Coordinates pop up, right where the other phone is. Somewhere in the Outlands, fortunately. Revenant smiles to himself, walking towards the MRVNs that allow them leave on weekends.

It took two weeks. The Games’s officiates had begun searching desperately for him. It was difficult going across the world without transportation—any attempt to get into a helicopter and send it towards the target was met with either fans or someone calling the police.

It was shocking how excited people got at seeing him. Some would, quite literally, embrace death, before asking him to sign something. “I’m looking for someone. Leave me alone.” He’d say, only to receive a cheerful, almost flirtatious answer, playing on the first half. It was annoying.

He travelled miles on foot, eventually ending at a neighborhood in the wealthier part of the Outlands. It’s currently nine at night. Revenant can hear children up late, but he ignores those houses. Chatting adults, clinking of wine glasses… all so _suburban_. Not the pacing of bodyguards, the low static of comms, the light thud when a briefcase lands on the floor.

_Shattering of glass as you break the window, the shrieks of civilians when a robotic monster steps towards them?_

He stands in front of the house belonging to John, before calling him.

“Makoa?”

Revenant imitates Gibraltar as best he can, which is merely playing a recorded, live-edited string of dialogue, clips from Games or things he’s heard. “Hey—John, it’s me. I came as soon as they announced the break.”

The sound of someone running lets Revenant know he’s heading towards the door. “You’re actually here? I thought I told you I didn’t want to—” The door opens, and Revenant looks down at the target. “See…you…”

He screams, the sound muffled as the Simulacrum puts a hand over the skinsuit’s mouth, the man’s desperate biting to get rid of it only resulting in chipped teeth. They slowly move inside, blade-like fingers digging into John’s neck.

“Do you enjoy living, fleshbag?” It was a simple question, but he didn’t reply. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he answers, muffled. Tears begin to spill, some of them slipping onto Revenant’s hand. He makes a disgusted sound.

“Then leave him,” Revenant holds up Gibraltar’s phone. “Alone.” He lets go of the terrified, sniveling skinsuit, only to receive a small alert. It leads him to right underneath the chest plate, where a letter opener was wedged inside a tangle of wires. After a beat, he turns slowly to John. For the first time in a long time, he laughs. It’s low, at first, but then it rises as the man realizes, perhaps, that might not’ve been the smartest of moves. Revenant easily sinks a few blade-like claws into his shoulder, keeping him still as he reaches up to the bookshelf on the wall. _They know my M.O., so I have to make it an accident._

He screams as the wall-height bookshelf is toppled over, over 300 pounds crushing the man. Blood pools after a moment, more rapidly as Revenant takes a foot and presses down on the bookshelf until the cracking and snapping stops.

A few days and Revenant returns to the Ship, the Games’s officiates having sent a helicopter when he showed up in a police station and forced them to send one.

As he walked towards the Commons, he saw Makoa in the kitchen.

“Hey, skinsuit. Here’s your phone.” He haphazardly tossed the phone to Makoa, who caught it.

“Where’d you find this, brotha? Where’d you go?”

“I was busy.” At that, Tae Joon—who was sitting at the table working on his laptop— narrowed his eyes. “Busy doing what?”

“Dealing with an issue. It’s dead and gone.” With a lilt of amusement, he added, “Untraceable, at this point.”

“Why’d you…” Makoa’s eyes widened. “Did you steal this? For three weeks?”

Revenant shrugged, optics a dim red, revealing an unusual satisfaction with something. “That, and you don’t need to worry about a certain blond prick. Poor guy, a bookshelf fell on him.”

* * *

The snow was… undesirable. Uncomfortable. Revenant stayed inside when it snowed. Caustic would join him, reading quietly with glasses on that made him look more like a father than a presumed-dead murderer. Makoa, Anita, and Ajay would all sigh, walking outside to watch Octavio pelt everyone with well-thrown snowballs. Elliott would summon his decoys as a sort of team, all of them corporeal enough to throw snowballs, yet incorporeal enough for Octavio’s snowballs to pass through them easily.

Wattson would build snowmen, while Renee would reluctantly go along, only to end up having a blast. She was a pro at dodging snowballs while building snowmen, the voices nervously informing her that Octavio had just glanced her way, snowball in hand. Bloodhound would be as intense as usual, stalking through the snow to find Octavio, who was trying to find Bloodhound. It turns out, you don’t need the Allfather’s help when the foot-thick snow has massive footprints.

Revenant, though?

_You motherfuckers—can’t you hear me?! Down here- cold, it’s so fucking cold… there’s a goddamn fish that just brushed against my leg—I’m punching the fucking ice how deaf are you you can’t hear me?!_

The sensation of drowning rises, bubbling up in and crushing nonexistent lungs. He had been in a wintry part of the Outlands, and a few mercenaries defending his target had gotten the drop on him.

_everything’s locking up it’s so cold please please someone save me!_

—the mercenaries had dumped him in a large, cracked-open fishing hole, putting a piece of plywood and a sandbag over the opening. Eventually, a Syndicate team came to help, but they hadn’t heard him.

_cant breathe im dying. this isnt how i go i cant-_

He remains silent as Octavio runs past him, having headed inside for a snack, bumping him aside, snow from the daredevil’s jacket brushing onto Revenant. Octavio looks back at a stock-still Revenant, a teasing smile on his face. “Woops, _compadre_. Didn’t see you there.”

The Simulacrum doesn’t say anything, for fear that he can’t. He merely walks towards the kitchen, fingers clicking rapidly against the marble table there. Restlessly.

_Im sinking… but ill be back once the fishes eat me…then theyll pay_

He ignores Ajay’s prodding. “What is it? Ya got nothing to say?” Instead, he walks towards his room; the one with scratches from Octavio keying the door. Tae Joon raises an eyebrow at him, his drone beeping in curiosity. Revenant slips into his room, locking the door of the pitch-black room. He had no use for lights, night vision did all the work.

He couldn’t cry. Why give that option? He was supposed to _elicit_ tears, and even if he _could_ cry…

Pity was not given to something like him. Androids had enough human features to garner sympathy, while all he had was the stony face that never changed. Instead, he remains still, occasionally twitching, the wires making up a nervous system fraying on their own as an ocean of frustration and phantom panic coursed through them.

So, yeah. Revenant doesn’t like the snow.


End file.
